Men and Monsters are Fools
by PrincessTiannah
Summary: He is less of a man, more of a monster, but it doesn't matter because both men and monsters are fools. AU. Looks like my one shot expanded.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Thanks to NorthernDownpour01 for reading through for me. I promise, when I sat down to write it, this was fluffy and light and wonderful, but it twisted between my head and my keyboard._

* * *

He sat quietly on top of the turret, staring out into the dusk. Even if anyone looked up, and people rarely do, they wouldn't see him there. Of course, everyone knows he is somewhere close, but no one wants to go looking and no one wants to find him. Everyone thinks they know why he is here, even her, and if he was less a monster and more a man, that would bring tears to his eyes. Instead, he sits and stares and listens and waits.

* * *

Things had been going so well, after three months in the Dark Castle, they had both relaxed and started to enjoy the wit and intelligence of the other. Giving her a room with a window and a bed had made the world of difference to her demeanour and slowly she had blossomed into a worthy companion, as well as a competent caretaker. His walls came crashing down the night she kissed him. Calm as anything, she had poured his wine, plonked herself in his lap and kissed him. He was less than a man, more of a monster, so he had her there on the dining table. She had cried out his name as he grunted into her shoulder and he had thought her as happy as he. She had smiled up at him after, as he swept her into his arms and carried her to her bed, tucking her in with a kiss and caress. The fantasy broke less than twenty minutes later, when, after an unsuccessful attempt to spin, he stole up to her room, to glance at his lover in sleep. Outside her door he was brought up short by the sound of her sobs. His heart, which had only recently resumed beating, froze in his chest, he had ruined her, forced himself on her, taken her virginity, not with love, on a bed of rose petals like she deserved, but with force, on a cold, rough, wooden table, a master claiming his price. He had left then, leaving the castle doors open and her cloak outside her door. He didn't intend on being back for a long time, not to the shadows and memories of the companionship he had destroyed and he hoped she had the sense to understand his silent apology and encouragement to leave.

He had travelled for months, not able to face the thought of returning to his cold empty castle. He hoped she had taken some trinkets, destroyed something, taken payment for what he had taken and destroyed of hers. He terrorised kingdoms, floating wherever he was called, wheeling and dealing for the distraction rather than the reward. After four, or was it five, long and lonely months, he realised that it wasn't helping, and some of the deals he was making were in danger of threatening his well established reputation, he hoped to the Gods he no longer believed in that no one ever heard tell of the disastrous deal he made with a little girl for a bundle of matches.

It was dead of night when he appeared at his castle gates, choosing to approach the castle itself on foot, the snow was starting to settle in for the winter and the landscape looked as dark and miserable as he felt. He noted with a snort that she had at least closed the doors behind her when she bolted, hopefully that meant that he didn't have a family of birds to evict from his dining room beams. He pushed the doors open and prepared himself for the worst, but what met his eyes was nothing out of the ordinary. The entrance hall was clean and tidy, just as when he left. He made his way to the dining room, his fingers itching to touch the wheel again, to lose himself in the thread and the creak and the familiar monotony. His eyes swept the room for missing items or destruction, instead they found a roaring fire and a plate of food at his chair. And a small figure curled up in an armchair at the fireplace. He blinked, more than once, not understanding what he was seeing. Who was in his castle? And why were they here?

He slammed the doors behind him, giggling in glee at the echo effect and the speed the small figure uncurled and stood, until the giggle died in his throat. The figure was no runaway fugitive, no thief, no assassin, the figure was Belle. He took a step forward. Belle, she hadn't left, or she had left and returned. She stood warily, arms seeming to protect her stomach, eyes red rimmed, hair and skin limp and sallow. At his forward step, she took two back, obviously rather more keen to throw herself in the fire than welcome her master and destroyer home. She turned, to escape the heat of the fire without moving closer to him, and he saw what her arms were protecting, saw how perfectly he had ruined her, and he crumpled to his knees, a silent stream of curses running through his head.

He had tried so hard the next few months to make her life as easy as possible. Gifted her clothes and oils for her bath, all returned, unwanted, instead she sat at night and cut up her dresses to make room for her expanding bump. They didn't speak, not really. She had shamed him by continuing to provide his morning tea and evening meal, always placed at his chair, the lady herself nowhere in sight. He'd caught her one day, told there was no need to wait on him, that her chores could be done by magic, she had shrugged sadly and walked away. The meals stopped coming, he saw her even less. When she stopped coming down to fire in the evenings, he figured she was near her time and magicked them both to her father's castle. Before he let them see her, he made a new deal, for her safety and the safety of the child she carried. Her reunion with her father had been silent and tearful. Her rooms were opened up, her lady's maids recalled and he had kept himself to himself, mainly up on the roof.

* * *

For the last three days, he has been watching a stream of young lords and knights enter her chambers. Some carrying flowers, or boxed gifts. He wants to giggle, but the frozen heart in his chest just hurts. They have heard of her return, the new deal he has made for her, she is once again desirable, her hand a gift that only she can give, a beautiful gift with a dowry and lands enough to make any family overlook her year in his service, overlook the way he has perfectly ruined her. He watches all the men leave again, she sends them away and refuses to even keep their offerings.

He knows what everyone thinks, but he doesn't know if they are right. When he sees the old women enter her chambers, he knows he has little time left to contemplate. Hours later her cries and sobs reach him in the darkness and he creeps from his perch to her window. She is pale, her lips bleeding and dry where she has bitten down on them, her hair hanging damp with sweat and she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He blows some unseen magic her way, magic to help her pain, magic to help her strength and returns to his seat at the top of the castle. It will not be long.

So lost is he in his thoughts and wishes of what might have been had he been able to control himself, had he been braver, that the voice beside him takes him by surprise. She is young, her dark brown hair straight as pump water and twisted with blood red ribbons, she isn't afraid of him, at least, no more afraid of him than she is of any man. She wears the mask of confidence that many victims wear and he can see from the pattern of bruising on her arms, just how much abuse she has taken. He looks at her with pity in his eyes, she is the sacrificial lamb.

'Sir!' Her voice is quiet, but strong. 'The lady Belle has birthed you a daughter.' She looks away and steps back, giving him time to process. He looks up to the sky, the stars are blurry tonight and, were he a man and not a monster, it might be considered that he shed a tear or two. He stands to follow the girl, to claim his prize, when she surprises him again, turning to face him so fast he nearly bumps into her.

'She will refuse them all, you know? The suitors.' The girl whispers. He shakes his head, he doesn't understand. The girl looks at him and thinks. 'Every night you were gone..' She takes a step away from him, preparing to run, just in case and takes a deep breath before continuing, her voice almost scolding. 'Every night you were gone, after you left her, ever night she made you dinner. Every morning she hoped to see the food gone. Every morning she worked, dusting and scrubbing and hoping that the next night would be different.' She sees she has his attention and hurries on, needing to say her piece, it is now or never and never isn't a good time for something so important.

'When she started with the sickness, she thought it was stress, that she wasn't looking after herself well enough, it was two more weeks before she realised. She loved the child from that second, Sir. She cries herself to sleep every night, she calls to you in her dreams. I thought, we all thought she was afraid of you, afraid of you taking her child, but I know that we were wrong. She is afraid that you will leave her here and never give her another chance.' She braces herself for the blow, or more likely the feeling of magic destroying the bonds that make her her, but neither come. She looks up at him, he is frozen to the spot, his eyes glassy and she doesn't know what to do. She slips away from him, back to her lady, hopefully before she is missed.

It was lies, clever lies, it had to be, although he couldn't for the life of him think who would gain from them. The thought that she missed him, waited for him, wanted him to come home. Could it be possible that all those months he was wandering miserable and missing her, that she was missing him too? But she had cried, alone in her room, cried at his treatment of her, and she had been afraid, so afraid on the night he returned. She had returned his gifts, unwanted, she had ignored him, avoided him. No, he would not fall for these lies. He would take the child, he had a reputation to uphold after all, he would find a family to love her, give his side of the deal and learn to forget about them both.

He puts a false bounce in his step as he walks to her rooms, it isn't proper for him to be there, but really, who would think of stopping him? His breath catches in his throat as he sees her there, so lovingly cradling their child, their daughter. Her hair is braided back and she is dressed in a white nightgown, her brilliant blue eyes have regained their shine and they sparkle as she looks down on the bundle of pink blanket in her arms. Some of the ice falls from his heart as he allows himself a second to believe the red ribbon's lies, allows himself to believe that they are his. When one of the women notice him, he shoos them out with a loud giggle and a harsh word, and Belle looks up at him, her sapphire eyes full of hope.

He claps his hands and his daughter is in his arms, purple smoke still curling around her mother's arms where she lay a moment ago. He ignores Belle's sob as he looks down at the perfection that is his child. She opens her eyes, midnight blue, so dark they are almost black and she seems to stare at him before closing her eyes and ignoring him again.

'Belle.' His voice doesn't sound like his own and he coughs before trying again. 'Belle, I, thank you.' He nods at her and turns to leave, his daughter tucked into one arm.

'I'm sorry, Rumplestiltskin.' She chokes out between her sobs. 'I'm so sorry, please don't punish me any more.' He turns to see her trying to rise from the bed, she is so weak, must have used so much energy, lost so much blood. She stumbles towards him, falling at his feet and he is horrified to see the trail of blood she leaves in her wake. He looks around in fear, he knows this isn't right and he has sent the women away. He sees red ribbons, standing defiantly by the door and shoves the baby firmly into her arms before bending down to pick up Belle, placing her reverently on the bed. His hands work over her, she is weak, but still protesting, begging for her baby back, apologising for some unknown misdeed. His magic searches for and finds the source of her bleeding, easily able to repair a tear that would have killed her, should have killed her. If he had just taken the baby and magicked away, she would have died. He pushes red ribbons and the baby to Belle's side and sits at the window, a sweep of his hand cleaning the blood from the floor, he has never been fond of the sight of blood.

As Belle and the baby sleep, he ponders her words, and the words of the brave girl with red ribbons. She is afraid he will leave her here, but surely she knows of the deal he has made for her, the reason for all the suitors. Surely she knows he has dealt for her safety, even if she doesn't know the cost.

'Red!' He calls softly and the young girl looks up. 'She thinks I left because she angered me, doesn't she?' The girl nods solemnly. 'Does she think I kept her for the child? That the gifts were an exchange for carrying my heir?' The thought makes him feels sick and when Red nods he has to turn his head to the cool night air to keep the bile down. For a moment he had felt more man than monster, for a moment he had looked at the two most important people in his world and felt like a man, a normal man, but now, now he knows he is all monster, she spent nine months afraid him, she offered him everything she had and he took it and abused it and left her alone with her shame.

'Red?' He isn't sure he wants any more truths, but he can't stop now. 'Why did she cry? I left because she cried, after we … she cried and I thought …' He can't say it, but she knows and she answers him and she is so brave to stand by her mistress and face up to a monster.

'She cried because you left her, you tucked her in and walked away. She cried because you didn't want her.' Red looks down, her own eyes full of tears. He doesn't understand women, he is just a man and a monster and both are fools.

'Last question, Red, then I promise, I'll be gone and they'll be safe forever.' He waits for her nod before continuing. 'Does she know what I traded for their safety?' Red shakes her head. 'Please tell her for me, please tell her I traded my everything, her dowry shames the greatest queens, my castle, my lands, my trinkets, everything is hers, I won't need them where I am going. Please make sure she knows that I valued her above my freedom.' He hangs his head and moves towards the bed, dropping to place kisses on the heads of his precious girls before spinning and bounding to the door, it is all about the show and he prepares himself to face the knights he knows are awaiting him outside. He has some time, the terms of the deal were fairly loose, so loose in fact, a smart man might have reconsidered, but Belle's father was a desperate man, not a smart man.

'Rumplestiltskin!' Red's voice is clear, but he notices the edge of panic. 'Don't do this. Don't leave her again. At least not until you have had some time to talk, to understand what each of you want. Please don't hurt my lady again, Sir.'

He looks at her once and nods, the ice around his heart shattering. A brief flick of his hand unbolts the doors and he picks up his lady and their child and disappears in a cloud of smoke. When the knights and her father enter the rooms seconds later, the last curls of smoke are floating to the window and Red is crouching alone and scared by the bed.

'Where are they?' The head of the guard demands, striding towards Red, his hand raised to strike her. She backs away, letting out a small squeal when she hits something solid behind her. Rumplestiltskin wraps his arm around her and growls at the guard.

'We do not hit women!' He snarls, before disappearing, leaving just a red ribbon as sign the girl was ever there.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: A second chapter seemed to be desired by most of my reviewers, so, here you go, hope it doesn't disappoint - not much fluff, but maybe a little cotton wool. I expect there will be a couple more chapters and maybe some fluff in the future. Reviews make me happy and happy people write fluff!_

* * *

Lord Maurice, Duke of Avonlea is troubled and, to be honest, a little confused. Just three hours ago, his life was looking pretty damn fine – his daughter was home, a constant flow of suitors filed through the castle and he had a contract tying the most feared creature in the land to his cells. Now, his daughter was gone, along with her cursed baby, he just watched a serving wench and the monster disappear before his eyes. Maurice had a lot of questions to answer. Soon the most prominent royals in the land would be descending on his humble castle to discuss the fate of a prisoner he appeared to have lost.

He is sitting in the grand hall with his council members, everyone wanting to talk at once. They are busy picking apart the contract he had signed with Rumplestiltskin, trying to find the loophole that had caused everything to go wrong. He had known that smart men do not make deals with the fearsome creature, but it had all seemed so win-win to him, he got his daughter back, effectively purified by the size of the dowry the monster was gifting her and he got to be the man who finally captured the scourge of the kingdoms. All he had to do in return was protect his daughter and the cursed child (although everyone knew how Rumplestiltskin treated firstborns, so he doubted the child would be his problem for long) and what father wouldn't do his all to protect his only daughter, deal or no deal?

* * *

What Maurice couldn't have known, is that at exactly the same time, Rumplestiltskin is poring over the same contract, trying to decide which loophole to exploit. He has hastily done some castle modifications to turn Belle's old bedroom into a suite, adding a sitting room, nursery and small chamber for Red. Exerting his magical will on unbending stone has left him drained and his head pounding. All magic comes with a price and right now he feels like he moved those walls with his bare hands as well as his mind. Belle and the baby are still sleeping, but Red is in the kitchen. She made him tea earlier, he didn't drink it, but appreciated the offer.

His problem with the contract is annoying him, while he created many loopholes in the finer points of the deal, he hadn't even considered the possibility of leaving with Belle, the possibility that she might want to be with him, so he was stumped. Although there was no magic involved in this contract, he is bound by his magic to uphold the terms of his deals and at the moment it looked very much like he was going to have to surrender himself to the Duke's Guard. He needs to sleep, get some perspective, look at this again with a fresh pair of eyes.

He reaches over to drink the tea Red had made him earlier. It isn't bad, not as good as the tea Belle made, seeped slightly too long with a touch too much honey, but then, it might have tasted better were it not cold. Red had thanked him for saving her when she brought him the tea, called him 'my Lord', informed him that Belle was weak but well and scurried away. He hadn't seen Belle or the baby since he dropped them in her bed. Part of him was thinking about them all the time, whirling away like a mystery his brain was trying to solve without his input. Just a little peek, he tells himself, then I shall sleep.

Too mentally exhausted to transport himself, he drags his weary body up the stairs to her new suite, pausing to listen at her bedroom door, before silently pushing it open and peering into the semi darkness. The curtains are drawn, blocking out most of the afternoon sun, but it is still bright enough for him to see them, Belle curled around the small bundle in her bed. His feet move him to her bedside like he is entranced, and he drops to his knees to gaze at them, softly breathing together in their sleep. He hardly dares to touch the precious baby, his daughter, remembering with a painful jolt, the cruel way he had magicked her from her mother's arms just hours earlier. He is a monster trying to be a man, but still a monster. He carefully presses a long slim finger into his daughter's fist, taking care not to scratch her soft and delicate skin, silently gasping in delight at the strong grip in which she holds on. He rests his head on the mattress, just a minute, he tells himself, just a minute to relax and recharge and pretend I am a man, a normal man.

* * *

This is the scene Belle wakes to, her unnamed daughter in her arms, Rumplestiltskin asleep on the floor, his finger firmly claimed by her, by their, child. She is afraid, still so afraid that he will take the child and send her back, but she can't help smiling at the sight before her. The baby is starting to whimper, she needs to be changed and fed, but Belle can't bring herself to unwrap the tiny hand from the golden finger it holds, so she sits and watches a while, tries to find the words she knows she will need later, the apologies, the thanks, the promises.

She had awoken with a start some time earlier, the baby safe at her side and Lucy curled at her back. The young maid sensing her mistress's distress had stroked her hair, told her where they were, what had happened. The story had been brief and didn't explain Lucy's role, although the girl insisted she was happy.

Now, as Belle looks down on her master, sleeping peacefully at her side, she contemplates the man who thinks himself a monster. No monster would have given so much to keep her safe, she had not asked of it, nor felt she deserved it, he effectively traded his life to give her a chance at hers. Could she put away the sadness and the fear of the last nine months and try to stay with him? Would he let her try?

The baby cries out, demanding attention and Rumplestiltskin wakes, moving away before his eyes have opened. He looks at Belle and wonders which of them is more afraid.

'I won't take her.' He stutters. 'I won't touch her again without your leave.' She looks relieved and he bows his head, turning for the door as Red rushes in, nearly colliding with him. He presses himself against the wall, sidling his way out of the room while the ladies fuss over the babe.

He is sitting at his wheel, spinning and thinking, his head spinning as much as the wheel. Dusk is falling and the castle's candles start to ignite. He turns as the doors open and bounces quickly to his feet as Belle enters the room, heavily leaning on Red, the baby strapped to her chest with a long length of material. Red slowly escorts her mistress to the table and seats her, before rushing out again. Rumplestiltskin bounces lightly on his feet, clasping and unclasping his hands, full of nervous energy, at an unnatural loss for words. He is about to seat himself again to resume spinning when Red re-enters the room, bringing with her a scent that makes his stomach growl. She places a big bowl of stew at his chair and one for Belle, before taking the baby and strolling out of the room, whispering some lullaby in a calming voice.

'Please.' Says Belle, her hand waving towards his chair, voice cracked and soft. He looks around, as if she might be talking to someone else, asking someone else to share her meal. He hesitantly creeps to his chair, slowly and quietly, afraid to scare her and make her bolt, not that she looks like she has the energy to go anywhere by her own steam. He sits, watching her carefully as she stares at her stew, stirring the spoon around and around making no effort to eat.

'Is Red a terrible cook, then?' He tries. She looks up at him quizzically. 'You don't seem inclined to eat.' He gestures to her meal. He is trying, trying so hard, in his head he is screaming at her to please, please help him try. She smiles weakly, it doesn't reach her eyes, dark and dull and ringed with bruises.

'Red?' She queries before understanding his nickname for the girl. 'Her name is Lucy, she is an excellent cook and you stole her away.' She doesn't mean to be so confrontational, she looks down, mumbles apology and blows on a spoonful of stew before eating.

'I didn't steal her.' He spits, his anger too quick to rise. He is tired, too tired, he looks at his bowl, eating steaming spoonfuls on stew, burning his mouth and not caring. He doesn't look up until he hears her sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks.

'No, no, no!' His mentally kicks himself, but his words come out soft, if a little panicky. 'Don't cry, my Belle.' He finds himself kneeling at her side, unsure of the movement that got him there. 'I rescued her, she was so brave, so fiercely loyal to you. So many bruises, such haunted eyes.' He is mumbling now, more to himself than to her. 'Men should not hit women and they should never take what isn't freely given.' He can feel the anger rising up in him again, he is a more a monster than he is a man, but in this, and maybe this alone, he is pure and true.

She looks down on him, her crystal eyes shining with tears, her cheeks are flushed from the sobbing and the effect makes her look healthier. 'Sorry.' She sniffs. 'Please lets not fight, too tired.' She turns back to her stew and when he is sure she is settled, he returns to his chair and scraps his bowl clean. They don't speak again, but when Red returns the atmosphere in the room is much lighter. She hands the baby over to Belle and clears their bowls, promising to return with tea. The baby is quiet, but awake and he can't help but stare, she is so very beautiful and so very human. He wants to reach out, to stroke her soft golden hair, but he doesn't, he promised he wouldn't. When Belle looks up at him, he averts his gaze and stands, backing away from the table as her eyes bore into his very soul.

He is going to leave, after all her carefully planned words, they just snapped at each other and now he is going to leave and she knows she must try, be brave enough for both of them.

'How about a deal?' Her words surprise him, both the fact that she spoke and the words she uttered.

'A deal, Dearie?' He smirks. 'I hardly think your deals with me have been advantageous to you in the past. Do silly princesses ever learn?' His words, though cold and mocking, lack conviction, so she ploughs on.

'If you help me to the fire side, you can hold her if you like.' The words are wary, almost a whisper. Her eyes are full of hope and pleading with him, but he can't help himself.

'Hold you, hold her.' He says in his sing songy voice. 'You think it wise to hand your daughter to the monster who steals away girls?' He giggles, a grating noise to mock himself with.

'She's your daughter too.' Belle breathes. 'And I will never believe that you are a monster.' Though so quiet he can barely hear her, the steel in her voice is unmistakable.

When Red returns with the tea tray, she finds her mistress seated by the fire, baby suckling at her breast, master at her feet. A golden tinted hand slowly stroking the downy hair on the precious infants head.

He looks up when she sets down the tray, removing his hand, but remaining on the floor. 'Thank you, Re-' He starts, frowning. 'Thank you, Lucy.' He finishes, because names are important, especially when they are all you have.

'M'lord.' She swallows. 'If its all the same to you, I prefer Red. Red has ... strength, I like it.' She smiles at him and he nods, he understands the need to move on from your past. He stares into the flames, hearing her footsteps leave the room. Names are important, he thinks, they can define a person, they can ruin a person. Names have power.

'She should have a name.' His voice quiet but firm as he returns his eyes to Belle. 'Did you have one planned?'

The beauty shakes her head, her curls falling over her shoulders in a chestnut waterfall. 'I didn't imagine I could keep her, I refused to think on the future.' She sniffs delicately as a tear slips down her cheek. He reaches up to catch it, his magic turning it to crystal in his hand. Throwing the crystal in the air, he releases a puff of magic and what lands in his hand is a beautiful mobile, crystal tears hanging from golden thread. Holding it up to show it off, he smiles shyly at Belle, the crystals reflecting the firelight to cover them in ghostly flames.

'Its perfect.' She smiles, a real smile. 'Thank you!'

'It should be Aurora.' He states it like a fact, placing the mobile carefully under the chair and rising to pour them tea. 'Her name.' He clarifies. 'Aurora, the light over taking the dark, a new beginning, a new hope.' He takes his cup and walks away. 'Goodnight, Lady Belle.' He bows before leaving the room, a half smile playing on his face.

* * *

He is fast asleep, trapped in a dream of crystal bars and crying babes, when his door flies open with a bang. The magic is prickling at his fingers tips, eager to be released when the intruder realises their mistake. The figure freezes in the doorway and he diverts the magic, sparking a few candles to light and making himself presentable. Sitting crossed legged in the middle of his bed, he plasters his famous smirk to his face before looking up.

'Well, well, Dearie, someone is keen.' He giggles, a noise which dies in his throat when he sees her. 'Belle!' All hint of the snarling imp is gone, his voice is low and apologetic. She is breathing hard, her feet are bare, her hair tussled and falling from a thick braid. She is dressed in nothing but a blue silk night gown, which clings to her body in a way he tries to ignore. 'What are you doing here?' He snaps. 'I could have killed you!' The sense of panic he feels clearly audible in his words.

She puts her hand out to the door frame, still weak and needing the support. 'Rum.' She says, soft, almost loving. 'The deal, I .. How do we stop the deal?' He blinks at her, his mind struggling to hear her words, being still somewhat engaged by her state of dress. She frowns and takes a deep breath before walking towards him. 'The deal.' She tries again. 'You. I. The deal.' She is nearly in tears and he is torn between backing away from her and taking her in his arms. She makes the decision for him, climbing up onto his bed and taking his hand. 'We have to break the deal. Please.' Her tears start to fall and he is helpless to do anything other than wrapping her in his arms.

He lets her cry herself out on his shoulder, his back hurts and his hands long to tangle in her hair, destroying the rest of her braid, but he doesn't break position until she looks up at him.

'I missed you so much, Rumplestiltskin.' She whispers and he is lost. He crushes her to him, burying his hand and his face in her hair, breathing her in, feeling her heart beat against his chest. It's too much, he knows, any second now she will slap him, push him away, but he has dreamed of this, of her weight in his arms again and he will take any punishment for just a second longer.

'Rum!' She chokes. 'I can't breath!' He lets go in an instant, hands in the air in surrender, head down, ashamed. He moves away from her as she gulps in lung fulls of air, resting against his headboard when he finds he has nowhere else to go. He doesn't speak until her breathing has calmed.

'Belle, I.. I shouldn't have, forgive me.' He peeks up at her, dreading the look he will find on her face, disgust maybe, but more likely fear, he nearly suffocated the poor girl, he makes a terrible man, but a fine specimen of a monster. So he is startled to see her eyes shinning with merriment and her lips spread in a smile.

'It is easy to forgive a man his over zealousness, especially when he saved my life so recently.' Her voice is light and tinkles with laughter. 'Especially when suffocation in his arms feels so good.' She looks up at him, blushing, fighting hard to hold her strength and keep her eyes on his.

He returns her smile, eyes widening in realisation. 'Of course!' He shouts, pouncing up from the bed to pace the room. 'Keep you safe. Blood and dying and very not safe.' He is rambling and Belle is lost, but he seems almost happy. 'I'll see you for breakfast?' He questions, but disappears in a cloud of magic before she can answer.

* * *

_A/N: Forgot any Disney princesses who may or may not be called Aurora, the name was too meaningful to pass up, just because Disney stole it for something else ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry for the delay on this. I wrote two more chapters, then decided I didn't like it and started again, much happier with version two. Hope you like it._

* * *

Four hours earlier, delegations from the far reaches of the kingdoms had arrived at Avonlea Stronghold, ancestral home of Duke Maurice. Until moments ago, there had been a distinct party atmosphere, crown princes and princesses and ambassadors of the land living it up at Maurice's expense, celebrating the final capture of The Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, The Dealer. There would be time tomorrow to discuss the details of his imprisonment, time tomorrow to see the frightful creature cower at their magnificent feet and beg for forgiveness. Maurice was sincerely hoping that tomorrow would also bring the beast to his cells. Despite hours combing through the minute details of the contract, none of his advisors could find a way for the magical monster to slip from the cage of his own making, so he expected to see him soon, hopefully giving himself up with little fight. Moments ago Maurice's world was happy and safe, with time for worries tomorrow. Moments ago the young royals were dancing and drinking. Moments ago, a cloud of purple smoke signalled that something was amiss. It floated along the floor, swirling upwards, but was otherwise unimpressive. There was lots of twisting and turning and gasps of fear from the assembled crowd when a voice echoed around them.

'Your high Highnesses, pompous princes, pretty princesses and ..' The speaker pauses for effect, '.. all you other folk.' Several swords are drawn by several young men in various states of sobriety, but with nothing solid to point them at, the effect is rather lost. The voice giggles, if anyone was still in doubt of the speaker, they no longer are. 'It seems you have mislaid something of importance. Maybe I can offer my assistance?'

He appears, sitting next to their host, wine goblet in hand, looking, to all intents and purposes, like he was invited. The clatter of swords being manoeuvred to point in his direction is less than musical and laughable. After all these years, they haven't learnt that swords hold no fear for him?

'Submit to my guards, Beast!' The Duke stands and points a finger in his face, obviously encouraged by the amount of steel in the room.

'Or what?' His voice is lace with venom. He looks down at his hands, absent mindedly picking at his nails before flicking his fingers out towards the swords. He can't help a manic little laugh when everyone takes a step back, despite nothing appearing to have happened. 'The deal was not upheld. Dying. Is. Not. Safe. Bleeding to death. Is. Not. Safe. Left under the protection of a girl with ribbons in her hair. Is. Not. Safe. Captured by a monster.' He giggles. 'Is. Not. Safe. So no, I do not submit.' He stands and saunters towards the doors. 'Enjoy your little party!' Then he is gone.

Rumplestiltskin finds himself sitting on Belle's bed. Her sheets are still rumpled and bloodied from birthing his babe but the room has somehow held onto her fresh intoxicating scent. He stands to walk around the grand room, pausing at her closet to stroke his hands through her soft dresses and an idea hits him. With a wave of his hand, the contents of her closet disappear and he smiles to himself, imagining the look on her face when she finds she has clothing options more than a rag dress or nightgown. He had not really thought of it before now, but Belle had left very little behind when they journeyed to her father's castle a few weeks back, neither of them expecting her to return. All she and Red had, were the clothes he magicked them away in. He mused to himself about what else women needed or wanted, slowly stepping around her chambers until her reached a small side room for bathing. In here were brushes and combs, oils and soaps, pins and ribbons. Thinking it best to be on the safe side, he sent everything back to the Dark Castle, before turning to leave the room. He is looking forward to viewing the chaos in the throne room before returning home. He looks back to her bed, remembering the sight of her holding their baby cradled in her arms, and the abject fear on her face when she found all she was holding was magic smoke, he is a monster pretending to be man, how could this ever work out? His eyes light upon a baby crib, it is elegant and old, most likely it held Belle as a child and before that one of her parents. The wood is dark and expertly carved, woodland creatures play along the slatted sides and birds and butterflies flit over a solid canopy. The sheets are edged with lace and the crib holds many baby treasures; clothes fit for an infant of rank, a silver rattle engraved with a cursive B and a well loved, threadbare doll. He pockets the rattle and sends the cradle and its contents away with a flick of his fingers and a puff of purple smoke.

Waltzing down the ornate white marble staircase, his mind distracted by the practicalities involved with having two women and a baby in The Dark Castle, he nearly bumps straight into Belle's father, trudging up the stairs. With swift presence of mind, he magics himself a few steps up and sits, waiting for the old duke to notice him. When it looks like Maurice will simply walk right over him, he sucks in a breath and puts on his best caustic voice.

'Careful, Dearie. Inattentiveness on stairs can cause … accidents.' He twists his hand and slightly raises his pitch for the last word, implying more than the word itself suggests and jumps over the bannister to spy on the nobles left in the grand hall.

He is fast bored by the nobles and their half formed plans. Fierce words of rescue missions and slaying beasts float around the hall, as well as one interesting conversation suggesting he is building himself a harem, his snort nearly gives away his presence hearing that. He is painfully aware that he has no idea what to do with one woman, a harem is unthinkably terrible, for more reasons than one.

He makes a final call at the weavers, reducing several bolts of cloth to purple smoke and replacing them with a few gold coins.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin re-materialises outside his castle walls. The serious magic usage of the past few days has been exacting its price, he feels groggy and weak and his head won't stop pounding. He hopes the walk to the castle in the fresh night air will clear his head. It is approaching dawn and the ground is dewy and wet, the air cool and refreshing.

He cracks the castle doors and slips in, candles spluttering to life ahead of him. The castle is cool and silent and for a second he can imagine that the past year never happened. That he never answered the Duke's plea, that Avonlea fell to the ogres, that he never set eyes on the beauty who bewitched him, that his life was still empty and meaningless. The vision of Belle's body laying crushed and broken in the ruins of her castle makes him shudder and he shakes his head to remove the image before dragging his weary body to his chambers. He half wondered if she would still be there, curled delicately in the middle of his bed and, being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he was happy or unhappy to find his bed cold and empty. He doesn't even bother taking off his boots, just falling to the bed, asleep before his head hits the pillow.

* * *

The sun is shining through the windows, highlighting the dust motes floating in the air and bathing the dining table in soft golden light. She can see his straight form, facing away from her, spinning his wheel slowly, obviously lost in thought. She feels a small stab in her heart that he doesn't turn to greet her when she enters the room, but pushes the pain away and walks carefully to the table with her tea tray. She has regained most of her strength and thanks to his healing magic, she is feeling very few of the after effects of birth. He turns when she sets down the tray, jingling the cups together and he seems surprised to see her.

'Y.. you said breakfast?' She doesn't know why, but she feels nervous. She looks down over her ragged dress and bare feet, trying to straighten her skirt with her hands. He looks impeccable, as always, his silk ruby red shirt as soft and loose as his tan leather trousers are stiff and tight. She fights a frown at the obvious difference in their status, he is all power, money and influence and she is once again his serving girl.

He claps his hands, and bounds to the table. 'Breakfast!' He declares, like it is something new and special. 'Where is Red?' He questions while waving a hand towards the table creating an extra chair. As if summoned by her name, the young girl appears in the doorway with another tray, walking carefully to the table and setting her load down, before turning to walk away.

'Are you not joining us, Red?' He asks softly. 'I got you a chair.' He waves his hands at the chair and grins, determined to do things right this time, no dungeons and servitude. Red's eyes are wide and confused when she turns to look at him.

'M .. M'lord, I .. I .. ummm.' She stutters over her words, her head not fast enough to produce a sentence for her.

His lips twitch upwards as he puts her out of her misery. 'I am no one's lord, I did not bring you here as my servant.' He pauses to look at Belle, ensuring she is aware that he speaks to them both. 'You are free here, free to come and go as you please. And I assure you, you need not fear me, Red, you stood for my lady when all others abandoned her in haste. I would happily repay that debt with the flesh of the man who put those bruises on you.' He growls out the last words, sounding more monster than man, which is odd, because for once, he feels more man than monster.

Red's grin is luminous, although, from the corner of his eye, he sees Belle blanch in horror. She takes a step backwards and he slowly turns to her.

'My lady?' His words were to reassure Red, he had not given due thought to how they would affect his compassionate lady.

She starts walking backwards towards to the door. 'Aurora.' She mumbles, finding her strength. 'I have to get Aurora, and a cup for Lu- for Red.' She can read the panic in his eyes, softening at the baby's name. 'I'll be fast.' She promises. 'Pour the tea?' She winks at him, playing, but also testing how true his words are.

Her bare feet carry her slowly up the stairs, trying to forget the image of her master/lover flaying the guardsman who so loved to abuse pretty, status-less Red. Aurora is asleep where they left her, in the middle of her bed, turned slightly away from the door and cradled in a nest of pillows. She has to stare at her for a long moment before picking her up, still amazed and awed that this tiny being is hers. She nestles the baby into the crook of her arm without waking her and heads for the kitchen.

When she nears the great hall, she is drawn up sharp by the sound of laughter, she had expected them to be discussing gruesome torture for Red's abusers or sitting in stony silence, unsure of how to talk to each other, so she creeps into the room in the hopes of observing her companions unseen. Two cups of steaming tea are sitting at the end of the table and Red and Rumplestiltskin's chairs have been dragged to face one another. There is a delicate crown of daisies on Red's head and Rumplestiltskin is holding a wooden sword, waving it absent-mindedly.

'I shall slay the wicked beast for you, my lady, and we shall live happily ever after in our castle by the lake. We shall have great balls in the winter and tournaments in the summer. We will raise strong sons who will lead our mighty army and …' He has made his voice deeper, but dull and she realises the game they are playing. He makes a good impression of most of the boring suitors who came to try and win the generous dowry he had gifted her.

Red's voice is pitched slightly higher than normal and she does a good impression of Belle's upper class accent. 'Thank you, all very interesting.' She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. 'But all the same as the last guy. What if I don't want balls and tournaments? Or strapping sons to send to war?'

Belle giggles unable to hold back. 'And what if I prefer wicked beasts to boring knights?' Red and Rumplestiltskin both spin to look at her, Red looks guilty, but Rumplestiltskin looks shocked.

'Men can be monsters, my lady, but monsters cannot be men. Be careful what you wish for.' He sounds so sad, but she knows at once how to break the melancholy from settling in.

She walks confidently up to him, placing Aurora in his arms before he has chance to protest. He looks between her and the baby, the range of emotions on his usually unreadable face, quite comical. She steps away, pouring herself tea and making up a bowl of porridge for each of them. By the time Red has pulled her chair back to the table and offered a silent apology to Belle for mimicking her, Rumplestiltskin is lost in his daughter. He doesn't move, just stares at the small miracle in his arms, hardly blinking. Belle and Red eat their breakfast in silence, keeping their faces respectfully turned away from him so they can swear if needs be, that they never saw his tears fall.

When her bowl is empty, Belle stands and gently eases the girl child from her father's resisting arms. 'Eat, Rumplestiltskin.' She urges, breaking him from his trance. He looks at her thoughtfully before falling on his porridge with gusto. He sits back in his chair, enjoying his tea, a strange smile playing on his lips.

'I have gifts!' He declares, slamming down his teacup and motioning for them to follow him. He bounds up the stairs and by the time they catch him up he is standing in the doorway of Belle's suite, purple smoke already disappearing down the hallway. He bows with a flourish, gesturing them inside. Belle squeals in delight when she enters the room, gently placing Aurora on her bed before throwing herself into the arms of an unsuspecting Rumplestiltskin. He holds her loosely to him, relishing the feeling of having her in his arms but not wanting to be seen to be taking advantage.

'Thank you so much, Rumplestiltskin! You have no idea …' Her eyes are full of tears. 'I can't believe you did this.' She kisses his cheek and slips from him to run her hands over her family's cradle, which has magically appeared beside her bed. Red is laughing and pulling out all the baby clothes, passing the threadbare doll to Belle, whose tears soak into the dolls thick yellow woollen hair. Rumplestiltskin waves his hands to open the wardrobe doors and both women gasp to see it full to bursting with dresses.

'I just happened to find myself at a loose end last night.' He explained bashfully, before gesturing to Red to enter her room. Once they are away from Belle, he looks at Red apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Dearie, didn't know where to find your things, but acquired these for you.' He magics the fine bolts of cloth up against one of her walls. 'If you need anything else, you have only to say. I dislike being indebted to another, but you ..' He chokes a little. 'I owe you.' He says it meaningfully, he needs her to know that whatever she wishes is hers, but can't bring himself to say the words. She nods and gives him a quick smile before running her hands over the beautiful cloth, nothing like the coarse fabrics currently clothing her body. Red as dark as wine, bright white, forest green and black, dark as midnight on a starless night.

'Thank you!' She breaths, not quite brave enough to touch him, she drops into a deep curtsey. 'I never had anything new before.' He returns her curtsey with an elegant bow and retreats from her room to give Belle her last gift.

She is sitting on her bed, looking at Aurora in the cradle, her fingers tracing over the deep carvings on the hood. He magics the silver embossed rattle into his hand and shakes it to gain her attention. She looks up and her tears start anew, reverently taking the rattle from his hand.

'My lady.' He drops her a respectful but extravagant bow, before surrounding himself in smoke and disappearing to his room. He needs more rest to regain his strength, feeling for sure that there will be repercussions from the previous night.

* * *

He hasn't dreamed for centuries, nightmares however, nightmares are his constant night time companions. So he knows that this can't be a dream, but he can't bring himself to believe it is real. Curled up in his arms is Belle, he can't see her face but her back is pressed up against his chest, her chestnut curls gently tickling his face. His arm is draped over her waist, the fingers of their hands entwined. He doesn't move, hardly dares to breath, but he pulls her a little closer, buries his face a little further into her hair and closes his eyes, he is weary still, but improved, he doesn't intend sleep again, but lays, at peace, savouring the small mercy he has been granted, enjoying her softness and inhaling her intoxicating scent.

She had crept into his room a few hours earlier, not long after he had fallen asleep. Her intention had been to talk, to thank him again, to try to work something out, but seeing him so relaxed and at peace had undone her completely and she was powerless to stop her body snuggling in beside his. Feeling safe for the first time in months, she fell asleep in minutes.

_The sun is warm on her face, the scent of roses strong and comforting. The grass beneath her bare feet is damp with lingering, refreshing dew. Her skirts brush the ground, skimming over her feet as she slowly walks, her hand safely tucked in the arm of her companion. He looks down on her, smiling, mischief glinting in his strange eyes as he swings her around, holding her close and leading her in an impromptu waltz across the small rose garden. Their laughter fills the air as they dance faster and faster. The world started to shift and fade, he is whispering her name and she fights to hold everything together, to hold onto her lover, to feel the soft silk of his shirt, but something is tugging her away._

She blinks the dream away, momentarily confused, before turning in his arms and looking deep into his eyes. He loosens his arms around her, face guilty and opens his mouth to speak, but Belle wants the vision in her dream so she does the brave thing, leaning forward to cut off his words with her lips. She knows he loves her, he was prepared to sacrifice himself for her, he brought her gifts from home, he named their daughter, so she holds her lips to his, even though he is frozen in inaction. When he finally responds, she gasps at the intensity. He pulls her closer, deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and wrapping a hand in her hair. She surrenders herself to him entirely, running her fingers up his back to tangle in his hair. When he pulls away to look into her eyes, to search for any sign that she is anything other than happy, they are both breathing hard, and smiling, lips red and swollen, hair tangled and in disarray.

'Think you might have got lost, Dearie.' He whispers in her ear. 'This is my bed.'

'I'm not so sure about that.' She smiles. 'I heard tell of a deal.' She gives him a quick kiss on his nose. 'A deal stating that this castle and everything within its walls belongs to the Lady Belle.' She winks at him. 'Which just happens to be me, so this room, this bed, this monster.' She pauses to kiss him again. 'Are mine!'

'As you wish, my lady.' He truthfully declares. If she wants him, who is he to argue? He isn't exactly a monster, not exactly a man either, but he will be a fool no longer.


End file.
